


Coup de Foudre

by hardlyfatal



Series: Find Love Here [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Friday Fast Fic Challenge, Love at First Sight, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: coup de fou·dre [ˌko͞o də ˈfo͞od(rə)]NOUN - French, "lightning bolt".Colloquial meaning of a sudden unforeseen event, in particular an instance of love at first sight.





	Coup de Foudre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsbestosMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsbestosMouth/gifts), [Isola_Caramella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/gifts).



> For the Friday Fast Fic Challenge on tumblr, this is for AsbestosMouth, because she's wonnnnnnnnnderful, and IsolaCaramella for giving the prompt "rain".
> 
> Supposed to be 500 words or less but I suffer from verbal diarrhea so it's almost twice that. 
> 
> ...oops?
> 
> ETA: check out the limerick/poem/thingy LinnetMelody wrote for this, it's wonderful!
> 
> Shattered light - all the blues in the world! -  
> illuminate our two shapes here, close-curled.  
> Don’t let go, please hold tight,  
> while we wait for the light,  
> that flash, to show my soul to yours.

A sudden storm blew up and drove Jaime, walking down the street, to take shelter under an awning. A tall blonde person— a woman, he soon realized— was already standing there, arms wrapped around her waist to keep warm.

She turned to him with a wide, delighted grin on her face, and for a minute, his heart skipped a beat, because it was almost as if she were thrilled to see him, thrilled that he was there with her, and Jaime couldn’t remember the last time he’d been welcomed so warmly. That his presence had been so wanted, that he could be so valued.

But of course that wasn’t it, he realized when that first disconcerting moment had passed. She didn’t know him from Adam, and he didn’t know her from Eve. She was bizarrely tall, and ugly as homemade sin. But her pleasure was almost a palpable thing; he could nearly feel it vibrating in the drenched air around them.

Lightning lit up the gloomy mid-day sky, and she gasped with joy.

“Oh, that was a good one,” she murmured, clearly to herself, clearly having forgot Jaime was even there. She closed her eyes, intent upon something, and when the thunder crashed in the distance, she smiled again. “Four miles away.”

Counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, a child’s game, and yet there she was, six-foot-plus of her, enjoying the hell out of it. He watched, somewhat incredulous, as she reached her hand out from under the awning. Soon her large, capable palm was full of rain. She let it trickle slowly from between her fingers until it was gone and she was shaking the last droplets off.

Then, to his amazement, she patted the last of the dampness on her face, on her cheeks and forehead. Jaime must have made some sort of sound, of confusion or derision, because she startled and turned back to him, her face surprised. She’d forgotten he was there, his presence insignificant.

“It feels good,” she said, a trifle defensively. Her voice was husky, but sweet. “Fresh, clean… you should try it.”

Jaime frowned at her. “I should… put rain on my face?” He looked down at the $200 leather gloves he wore, more to hide the prosthetic in place of his right hand than because he was all that cold. When he looked back up, it was to see her withdrawing her hands from outside the awning. She shook the worst of the rain off them, then moved toward him.

He stepped back, feeling the first inkling of alarm. It was more and more possible that the woman was crazy.

She smiled again, but it was just a little smile, a little teasing, a little coaxing. “It won’t hurt,” she told him. “A grown man, afraid of a little rain.”

“I just don’t want to get wet,” he said. Now _he_ sounded defensive.

“You’ll dry,” was her response, and he realized that, short of bolting back out into the downpour, he was stuck under the awning with the crazy woman who wanted to smear him with water.

“C’mon,” she said, her voice gentler. “I promise it’ll feel good.”

 _Well_. Say it like that, in such a low, tender voice… stronger men than Jaime had been known to give in under such circumstances. He was just about to say yes, or nod, but apparently he’d taken too long to voice his intentions, because she took another step closer to him and framed his face in her hands.

They were, of course, wet. Not too badly; he wouldn’t be dripping onto his thousand-dollar suit or starched shirt or silk tie. Her palms were cool, each large enough to encompass his cheeks. After a few seconds, she moved them, one patting his forehead, the other his nose and chin. And she was right, it did feel good. Fresh and clean, as she'd said. Somehow, Jaime felt… new. Or a least different.

She was withdrawing her hands when another strike of lightning brightened the world around them. Her eyes were illuminated in the silver-gold flash, and in them were a thousand shards of crystal, a thousand shades of blue. His breath caught roughly in his chest, and his heart gave a single hard beat. His hands came up, fast-fast, to grasp hers, to keep them in contact, to keep her from creating distance between them, and the suddenness was a surprise to both of them.

Jaime began to count. “Five, that time,” he said when the thunder rolled at last. “Getting further away.”

“Soon the storm will be over,” she replied. The relaxed, happy expression she’d worn was gone, replaced by one of some dawning realization, some growing knowledge. She looked like someone who had just learned that something wonderful was in her near future.

“We’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” said Jaime, and replaced her hands on his cheeks.

She was taken aback, but just for a moment. He released her and she left her hands there, curving around the contour of his jaw, her palms warming with the heat of his skin. The feel of her hands changed. Before it had been about the rain, about sharing it with him, but now it was just them, just him and her, and she was touching his face as if it, not the rain, were the thing to bring pleasure. As if he, not the rain, were the precious thing to hold.

“I’m Brienne,” she said after a moment.

“I’m Jaime,” he said, but to himself, he thought, _Yours. I_ _’m yours._


End file.
